By Lisa B. Samalonis
My 3-year-old son and I have a nighttime ritual. After he brushes his teeth but before reading a book, we give thanks for things from the day.
Sometimes we say thank you for sunshine or rain, or for our healthy bodies and the safety of our family. Other times our gratitude is centered on more indulgent items such as toys or ice-cream sandwiches. Today, I am thankful for air conditioning.
As the relative humidity soars and the mercury rises, I walk out the door and it's as if a soggy wet towel is dropped on me. Instantly I start to sweat. Yet, inside the house, it's cool. Because when the forecast predicted steamy weather, we drew the blinds and cranked up the AC.
We are not alone. Just before sundown, as I take my walk around our development, whirling air conditioners can be heard at almost every house. Some never go off the entire summer.
Our family is not that bad. When the temperature dips to the low 80s, we shut off the digitally controlled thermostat to our central air and throw open the windows. The balmy breeze blows the curtains and refreshes the house. But too soon, when the sun is beating on our rooftop and the air is thick, we click it on again.
I didn't always this live way. Although the house where I grew up had central air, we used it only in dire emergencies. Those included days when the temperature was above 105 degrees or when summer's torrential thunderstorms prevented us from opening the windows and death due to suffocation was a risk.
One summer day when I was 9 or 10, it reached 102 degrees. My sister and I rode our bikes to the township pool to escape our hot house. I played all day in the warm water and blazing sun, then rode home panting from the heat. Later, my skin went from pink to scarlet. Sunburn covered me and raised my body temperature several degrees, I am sure. I begged for air conditioning, to no avail.
"It's not that hot," my mother said, despite transparent circles of sweat on her face.
I reflect on this torturous experience when I turn on the air conditioning, but never when I open the electric bill. For there I see my indulgence realized in the wattage used and the price to be paid.
Last year as a young homeowner, I got a jolt. The electric company had estimated my electric usage through June, July and August, so the true bill for the entire summer's air conditioning came in late September.
